


Snow

by WendyNerd



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Birthday Presents, Blow Jobs, Cunnilingus, F/M, Jewelry, Jon is an awesome husband, Married Sex, Name Day Fluff, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Sansa is a bossy wife, Sex, cuteness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-17
Updated: 2015-06-17
Packaged: 2018-04-04 21:20:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4153332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WendyNerd/pseuds/WendyNerd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa's name day. Jon is acting weird. </p><p>Something to wash the dirge of season five from our mouths. Also sort of a prompt response.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tommyginger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tommyginger/gifts).



Since her marriage, she’d spent her name days alternating between King’s Landing and Winterfell, aside from one year where it fell during a trip through Essos. In King’s Landing, her Name Days were often great, fancy affairs. Queen Daenerys had a great fondness for pageantry, family, and her good-niece, so the event was often celebrated with balls, banquets, and tourneys.

In contrast, her Name Days at Winterfell were often more restrained affairs. The North had suffered more in the wars, its leaders were busy folk, and its people more severe. Sansa didn’t mind. She often found herself exhausted by Daenerys’s events as often than she was delighted by them. Name days at Winterfell reminded her of her happy childhood, and it always made her happy to see her sister and show her children her home.

This name day, there was something of a feast and a bit of dancing planned, with a few lords and ladies visiting--- Lord Manderly, Lord Umber, Magna Val, and Lyra Mormont were among their number. Even the Karstark-Thenns made an appearance.

On the actual day, she woke to him seeming a bit distracted and tense. Though she woke early, she found a cool, empty space in bed with her, much to her disappointment. Soon after, Jon and their children came in with a plate of lemon cakes and a flurry of happy embraces, but during it, Jon seemed distracted, his lips a bit tight and his eyes a little twitchy.

Sansa knew her husband well, but even someone who didn’t would notice his smiles were fixed. Her husband wasn’t as good at faking enthusiasm as his wife. It made her worry. Why would he seem so unhappy, on this of all days?

When their children departed from the room to go attend their lessons, Sansa, still sitting in bed, inquired about his mood.

“I’m well, Sweetling,” Jon said in an overly-bouyant tone. Her husband almost always affected an air of solemn calm, his voice always soft and steady. But now everything he said had the air of a grand announcement. Sansa frowned.

“Something is wrong, tell me.”

“The only thing that is wrong,” he told her, “Is that you’re still dressed.”

He leaned forward towards her, pulling the trencher out of her lap and moving to climb atop her. Sansa pulled back a bit when he made for a kiss. “Jon, what’s wrong?”

Her husband wasn’t the greatest talker, but he usually was more open with her. However, he was more into action than speech. When he had something he truly didn’t want to discuss with her, he often tried to distract her with lovemaking. No matter how obvious it always was and how rarely it worked, he always tried this. Sansa preferred his body when his mind was present, though, and rarely ever let him have his way in these circumstances.

“Nothing at all, Sansa, I…. I’m well.”

 _You are so bad at lying to me._ He could lie passably well to others, when the situation forced it, but he was awful at doing it with her. She knew him too well.

“You swear it?” Sansa asked, her lip curling. Her husband withdrew, looking a bit put out. They both knew he balked at making false oaths. Not since the Watch. 

“Fine, if you must know, Tormund Giantsbane will not be able to make it to Winterfell on time. An unexpected thunderstorm in The Gift.”

That _was_ disappointing. Sansa was strangely fond of the giant Wildling’s irreverent manner. He told ridiculous tales, some of them about Jon in his youth. Some about scandalous relations involving animals. As long as Sansa didn’t have to worry about the stuffy royal court hearing him, she enjoyed them much in the same way she enjoyed Myranda Royce’s scandalous talk. But this still didn’t seem enough for Jon to act like this.

 _Some sort of trouble with vassals or criminals or Winterfell?_ Sansa was the lady of the castle still, and very, very invested in the welfare of her people. She could imagine Arya and Jon wanting to spare her any bad news until after her name day. Sansa’s stomach sank. If something threatened her subjects, she wanted to know of it straight away. “So, no news of our lands and people otherwise? Did that thunderstorm do any damage beyond delaying one of our guests?”

There were new settlements and roads being developed up there, perhaps the storm had damaged construction efforts. Sansa’s heart raced. While some Northerners might sniff and care little for the plights of the Wildlings, Sansa considered the Free Folk her folk as much as any. If something happened to them, they might not get support from their neighbors, and would need a strong, quick reaction from Winterfell.

Jon’s eyes widened. “No! Not at all! I swear it!" 

A wave of relief took her. But then a different suspicion peaked. “You said Magnar Giantsbane is delayed.”

“Yes.”

“And I suppose anything he might be bringing with him is delayed as well?”

Jon’s jaw tightened and Sansa’s lip curled. The prince groaned. “Maybe.”

Sansa giggled. “Well, I won’t ask you what it is, then.”

While Jon would likely be distressed by a delay in seeing Tormund again, the level of nerves he displayed indicated there was something extra hinging on this visit. This might nmake him disappointed, yes, but not uneasy. But the jumpiness and near annoyance he displayed at that moment made her believe that the magnar was carrying something with him. 

It was likely some big, beautiful piece of jewelry with stones mined from the far North. The Free Folk had incredible mines north of the Wall, and Tormund Giantsbane of Ruddy Hall had a fair amount of them in his domain. One of the most hysterical things about the new Free Folk constituency was how much wealthier they were than many of the lords and ladies who looked down on them. It drove the Ryswells particularly mad.

Jon wasn’t an extravagant man, every inch a severe Northerner. Even after he became a prince, it took a great deal of needling and manipulation from Sansa for him to stop dressing like a simple man of the Night’s Watch. But every so often, in his wife’s case, he’d make an exception.

These exceptions were rare. Certainly rarer than for most highborn wives --- to the point where it sometimes provoked ignorant whispers from nobles used to seeing princesses receive a pound of jewels every three months. But Sansa would rather dress in rags and have her marriage than a thousand baubles--- Cersei Lannister and Lysa Arryn had a king’s ransom in gems and they were miserable. Sansa had known great wealth, had been showered in finery by Joffrey, by Petyr, by Harry, even by Tyrion. It always came with some sort of misery, and it never came with the love and happiness she knew with Jon.

Such were her negative experiences with being dolled up and trotted out by men who treated her as a prize that she eventually came resent and suspect gifts and acknowledgments of her looks.

But Jon’s rare moments of indulgence were an exception, framed by enough love and respect that she didn’t mind. While he acted on such occasions like an eager child dressing a favorite doll in a new dress, it was actually rather adorable. As was his clear display of pride. The look on his face was always more precious to her than the finest of gems. They were just the means to see his face light up with satisfaction and excitement as she fastened whatever the gift was to her body.

If Tormund Giantsbane was bringing some impressive piece of glittering finery with him, Sansa was disappointed that Jon would have to wait a day or two to give it to her. No doubt he’d wanted to present whatever it was to her at her name day banquet and place it on her before everyone, letting people bear witness to him as the doting lord husband with his pretty lady wife. Jon wasn’t very public with how he doted on her--- both of them were reserved people more comfortable with keeping their affection behind closed doors. But at Winterfell, he was more comfortable and open about his love for her. Draping some fine new fur about her shoulders would likely be mortifying to him in front of Houses Tyrell, Valeryon, and Swyft. But in front of friends from the North in the walls of their childhood home, he felt more secure. No doubt he liked the idea of showing Stark bannermen what their prince had to offer their lady. Sansa wanted Jon to enjoy that. _That’s a disappointment. I’d like to have seen him beam like that on my name day._

Jon glanced downward, a weary humor coming to his face, “I thank you. You’re a little too clever, and I fear whatever answer I give you might reveal more than I mean to.”

_And that’s why I love being pretty for you._

Sansa resolved to wear as many of her husband’s gifts that day as she could. _The Lysene silk and the weirwood necklace, certainly._ Both were very ostentatious pieces of finery which she normally would pair with more understated garments. The necklace she normally wore with simple, unpatterned gowns, the silk with very basic, stoneless jewelry, if she wore any at all. But she could make them work together. _And there are other ways I could make him beam._

She felt a stirring in her belly, watching her husband stand over her, impressed by her wit and eager to dote on her. _Sweetness, pure and simple._ He was wearing one of his finer doublets, too. A silk the color of blood, one she’d made him. He appeared very much a lord and prince, and obviously made the effort. His beard appeared freshly trimmed. She could faintly smell the soap on his neck, obviously freshly shaved. Even his shaggy dark curls were combed back. It caused an inner conflict in her. She wanted to run her hands through that hair, but she would feel bad about mussing him after he clearly went to that effort for her. 

Her teeth clutched her lower lip. Sansa became aware that she was still in her night rail. And she remembered that she’d not yet freshened her breath, washed her face, or brushed her hair. Sansa reached out and flattened her hands against Jon’s silk-clad chest, feeling the planes of muscle there. He leaned in to kiss her, but she denied him again, turning her head to giggle and direct her breath away from where he might smell it. She tossed her head and gave him a flirtatious, sideways glance, “Be patient, Husband, do not mortify your lady wife by seeking audience with her before she’s had a chance to prepare.”

Jon groaned, leaned back, and rolled his eyes slightly. This was a point in their marriage. Sansa didn’t like kissing her husband with her morning breath, she liked being presentable, she couldn’t even bear to relieve herself in front of him. Jon found it ridiculous. Still, his wife liked to present herself as a lady whenever possible.

“For pity’s sake, Sansa, I’ve seen you give birth.”

Sansa turned away and scooted to the other side of the bed. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I do not currently have another human being coming out of me.”

Jon huffed and sat on the end of the bed, scowling. “Yes but I have no issue re- receiving---“

Sansa smirked as she stood. As Jon spoke, she slipped her hands down her body to take the hem of her nightgown. As she inched the fabric up over her body, her husband’s voice became thicker just as his expression softened.

“---receiving you as…. As you naturally… Are…”

The princess laughed and walked naked as her name day to her wash table, pulling out pepperment and linen and using that and some water from a pitcher to clean her teeth. She then washed her face, then went to sit primly at her oak dressing table to comb out her hair.

Thanking the gods that her need to empty her bladder wasn’t as pressing as it usually was when she woke, Sansa looked in her mirror and watched Jon watch her from the bed. She presented a fine picture, she knew, despite the children she’d birthed. She rode frequently, and hawking was a favored activity with ladies of the court. Though silvery lines marked her belly, breasts, and thighs here and there, her waist was finely nipped, her breasts full and not brought too low, her hips wide. Childbearing had been kinder to her than it had been to her Aunt Lysa. Sansa noted that her nipples, a deep, brownish rose, didn’t droop too much even if the shape that her gowns afforded her was very much an illusion.

Care was taken in how she moved as she ran her silver brush through her long, blood-colored hair. And she watched her husband closely. He sat upon their four-poster oak bed, gloved hands clutching the silvery furs, the lump on his throat bobbing. His dark grey eyes seemed a little brighter, less smoke-like as he watched her. Sunlight from the narrow window next to the bed cast a glare upon the side of his head, his dark brown hair shining.

Lust was in him, but it was welcome lust. Sansa liked the idea of curling up with him in the furs after they spent themselves. Within Winterfell’s walls, with him, she felt at home, comfortable in her nakedness.

For the sake of effect, when she finished she bent her head back and dabbed a bit of cinnamon scented perfume on her neck, knowing how the curve of her slender white throat would look. The light caught her hair, making it shine like fire. Jon shifted, his breathing now deep enough that she could both make out the rise and fall of his chest and hear the steady rumble of it. 

 _Playing the seductress, and he knows it._ He was the only one she ever liked playing this with. 

Sansa decided to drag it out just a bit more. She got up briefly to reach behind her mirror--- her bent position earning a shudder from the bed---- and retrieved a ring of keys that was bound to the back. She sat used one to unlock on her drawers, then the steel and weirwood jewelry box within. From the box she pulled two things. One was a silver chain designed to look like linked running direwolves---- a gift to Jon she’d made years ago that he almost never wore---- and her wreath necklace. Sansa pulled her hair up and glanced mischievously back at her husband.

“My lord, would you mind fastening this for me?”

He swallowed once more and nearly raced to her, pulling off his soft leather gloves. His fingers on her neck and shoulders were gentle but burning, a contrast to the cool metal. Sansa struggled to keep her composure. She watched the contrast of his two strong hands--- one nearly as pale as her flesh, the other marked by burns. When he finished, she took his burned hand and pressed a soft kiss to his knuckles.

The other hand began running up her neck and seizing in her hair, but once again Sansa--- struggling a bit--- told him to stop. “You should be presentable as well, my prince,” she said, her voice a little less firm now as she lifted up the chain, “Kneel?”

A slight whine came from him, but he knelt behind her. She felt his breath on the small of her back and turned, settling before him with her long legs parted.

Now the sound that came from him was a deep growl that managed to ripple up her spine. “I can smell you, My Lady.”

 _A dragon in name but a wolf at heart._ Sansa shook slightly as she settled the chain atop his broad shoulders. She was so wet she could barely stand it. “I can smell you too. Now, we’re both presentable, we can proceed with an audience.”

Jon surprised her by rising suddenly, seizing her hair in his hands and her mouth in his. A muffled squeal came from her as he devoured her mouth hungrily, looming over her powerfully. Moments like this made her see the dragon in him as well. She certainly felt the fire. 

 _That brushing was in vain,_ she mused with satisfaction as he ran his hands through her hair furiously and moaned. Eventually his lips went to her hairs as well, allowing her breath. His mouth, hot, wet, and soft, went to her neck and collar, then to her breasts.

“Is this how you receive a lady, Jon Snow?” Sansa gasped.

Their eyes met, his flashing. He took a second to seize her left nipple in his mouth, sucking and nibbling just a bit and drawing a moan from her before breaking away to answer, “This is how I receive _my_ lady. What else is one to expect from a bastard like me?”

She smirked and put her head back as he seized her other breast in his mouth again. “Well…” She panted, “At least… you know… to get on… your knees… again… where… you belong… Oooh!”

He seized her waist in his hands and lifted her up, setting her down on the surface of the table with a loud _thud!_ He grunted. “So I needn’t kneel too low.”

Then he grabbed her knees roughly and forced them apart.

When his head dipped, she expected his mouth on her core immediately, but he tricked her by pressing soft kisses to her inner thighs. Sansa keened, arching her back so her head pressed against the glass of her mirror. “ _Jon!”_

He stroked the hair between her legs with firm fond fingers a few times before parting those lips. “So, so wet for me, Sansa,” he hissed in satisfaction. That satisfaction was met with a smirk from his wife.

“Always,” she moaned, not even caring at this point, “Just as you’re always thirsty for it.”

A glance. A nod. A smile. Then a hot mouth upon her, sucking on her nub with a furious hunger, tongue dancing against the tissue there. Sansa had known brilliant liars, master manipulators, prodigious poets, sweet singers. Jon was no master wordsmith or musician, but she’d never known a cleverer mouth than his. 

She leaned back, clutching the rim of her mirror tightly. She turned her head and her burning cheek pressed against the cool surface of the glass. Her eyes, squeezed tight, fluttered open for a second and she saw herself, panting, writhing, and wanton in the reflection with a flurry of dark hair between her parted thighs. _So very, very wanton._ Not that she cared. 

Moans became screams not long after. _I’m going to break this table,_ she thought wildly before reaching the apex of her ecstasy.

When she came down, she managed to regain enough of herself to lean forward, settling her hands on her husbands panting, satisfied shoulders. Her fingers curled around his chain and their eyes met. His beard was wet with her. 

“I’ll count to twenty,” she panted, shaking the chain, “And then this better be all you’re wearing.”

Jon got to his feet, yanking at the laces of his doublet and nearly falling as he tried to kick off his boots. Sansa leaned back again, counting softly and looking on satisfied as more and more flesh met her eyes. When she saw that coarse dark hair on his chest, she grunted. It got thicker below his navel, and before long what was below it was revealed with the removal of his breeches. 

“No smallclothes,” she gasped once he was naked.

“I figured it might be prudent to neglect such a barrier,” he replied, chest heaving. Sansa grinned and scooted forward. The chain stayed on, a harsh silvery light contrasted with the dusting of dark chest hair. She seized it with two hands, brought her husband forward for a deep kiss, then broke away to growl, “Bed, now.”

When he lifted her up, she wrapped her legs around his waist. Her wetness brushed his manhood, hard and stiff. His steps nearly faltered as she ground against him.

“Careful, Woman,” he warned gruffly.

Sansa kissed him to stifle her laugh as they fell onto the bed, him above her. He nearly took her then, him on top, but she pushed him onto his arse and made him sit up. She liked writhing in his lap, with as much skin to skin contact as possible.

He moaned as they joined at last. Sansa buried her hands in his hair and let him bury his face in her breasts as she bucked against him. He sucked at her breast like a furious, famished newborn. But one with teeth, which he used, nibbling at her nipples just enough to make her moan.

Cries of his name, cries to the gods, cries of yes came from her open mouth as she took him into her with passionate thrusts of her hips. His hands gripped her arse and waist. Hers ran up and how his back and clawed at his shoulders, yanked at his hair.

When her second peak came, she cried so loud that one of his hands gently found her mouth, thumbing her lower lip. Sansa bit down on his shoulder to muffle her cries.

Senses were regained, but Sansa didn’t feel it proper for her passion to be heard all the way in Wintertown. Jon glanced at her with satisfied eyes.

“You’re quite loud, my lady,” he gasped. She still felt him hard within her. She wanted to make him beam.

“Well then, we’re going to have to silence me,” she gasped. She pushed him flat on his back and pulled herself off of him.

A groan escaped his lips as she climbed down his body. “Sansa, Sansa…”

Sansa’s face became level with him cock, glistening. She pressed the tip of her tongue to the base and licked a long stripe up to the tip. Her eyes met his as engulfed him in her mouth, one hand ringed around the base of his, the other hand at his sack. Jon fisted the furs and writhed. Curses and cries filled the air.

He hit the back of her throat, and it took all her self-control not to gag. Watching him writhe stirred something within her. One hand left his cock and snaked down her body to between her legs to seize her nub, still hard and slick from her own ecstasy.

Despite his reverie, Jon seemed to notice. “Are you…? Gods, yes, Sweet girl, touch yourself! Touch yourself as you… As you suck my--- OH!”

She’d moaned around him, and it seemed to bring him to his limit. Moments later, he filled her mouth with his seed. Sansa swallowed, pleased with how his body stiffened and his cock pulsed before her became putty below her. She kept touching herself as she felt him soften between her lips slowly. Then she withdrew, his cock falling from her mouth.

By this point, she was too worked up to abandon her pleasure, so she rolled onto her back, settling next to him, hand still between her thighs. She turned her head and gazed at the man lying beside her, still twitching slightly from his own peak, body bathed in the morning glow. His muscles were still well defined, his form powerful and fine. _And he is a puddle and I made him that way. And my chain sits upon his neck._ The power of all this thrilled her. Jon watched her with heavy lidded eyes, his voice soft now. “Yes, Sansa… Sweet girl… Find it. Find your peak, you beautiful thing.” 

Eventually he rolled on his side, fixed his mouth to her neck and took a nipple between his thumb and forefinger. “Gorgeous…” He whispered right before she found her pleasure again.

Finally, she curled up against him, as she’d wished, in the cozy furs.

Eventually they tore themselves away, dressing and preparing for a splendid breakfast, a ride through town with Arya and the family. Following that came a picnic lunch, then a bout of games with their children, guests, and household in the courtyard until the evening, when they gathered for a banquet and dancing. Numerous gifts were presented. A great deal of laughter and fun was enjoyed. 

The only part that kept it from being perfect was, once again, this odd air of worry that fell over not just her husband, but her sister and some of her vassals. Every so often, she’d catch Jon having these furtive little conversations with Arya, with Val, with Alys Karstark. They looked nervous and annoyed. She asked them what was wrong, they all insisted it was nothing. Arya snapped at her not to be stupid, though she immediately apologized.

When they retired, Sansa confronted her husband on it. Before he could say a word, a page called to him. One quick, secretive discussion later, Jon gave Sansa a relieved smile and announced that Tormund had arrived.

“Well then, let’s greet him.”

For whatever reason, Jon offered a weak protest, but was quickly silenced. Tormund was her bannermen, she had a duty to greet him. She did so warmly, but even he seemed distracted. Once the pleasantries were exchanged, Jon urged her to retire, saying he’d be with her soon.

Feeling stung, Sansa gave up and did this. She was in bed when Jon returned, and when he tried to pull her into an embrace beneath the covers, she spurned him. “You’re distracted, My Lord, don’t let me be a burden.”

Jon sighed and settled on his back. “Happy Name Day. I love you so much, Sweetling.”

That got her. Sansa turned over and curled up against his chest, kissing his cheek. “I love you too. You’ll let me know what is happening tomorrow, yes?”

“I will, I swear it.”

 _Good enough._ She settled against him.

She was woken very early by an insistent nudging at her side and a small, concentrated, foreign weight on the bed. Sansa groaned and tried to sit up, eyes still closed and senses not fully engaged. “Another bad dream, Aemon?”

But her son’s giggling came from the other end of the room, along with the giggles of all her other children. And the snickers of her sister and niece. And the chuckles of her husband. And the panting of… Ghost?

She felt a wet, tiny, velvety thing lapping at her knuckles. Her eyes fluttered open and she looked down.

Several seconds passed before she registered what the silvery ball of fluff climbing into her lap was. Big yellow eyes looked up at her, silver ears sticking up. Sansa’s heart quickened. Her mouth became dry. Her lungs closed up. Her whole body shook.

Something… Something odd seemed to seize her. It was not the same as when she first met her children, or when she first realized she loved her husband. But there was some sort of quality to the sensation that was similar. She felt as if there was a sleeping bud in her chest that was finally starting to open its petals and bloom. Sansa knew she’d felt this before, too. Once, long ago. So long ago it felt like it happened to another person. _An innocent, sweet little girl. But… No…_

Very slowly, she turned her head and looked over at her family, all clustered near the door. The younger ones were all bouncing on the balls of their feet eagerly. Her daughter was grinning, hands folded eagerly. Ravella, her niece, clutched her mother’s hand. Arya gave her a hard but encouraging stare. There was a look of yearning to her sister’s pretty, elfin face, eyes flashing as she chewed on her lower lip.

Jon looked cautious, nervous again. He nodded slightly, his eyes holding a childlike, desperate hope.

She almost asked him how. But she was distracted by the creature in her lap nudging her hands again. Sansa’s eyes went down again.

 _Larger than I remember._ But in her dreams, Lady was as big as Nymeria. This one was almost as big as her first wolf was when the royal court arrived at Winterfell all those years ago. Lady was much smaller when they first met, but she’d been newly born at the time. 

This creature looked up at her with happy, calm, trusting eyes. Sansa’s fingers drifted down to stroke her ears, then reached her neck. A collar of shiny white leather, with a big, white satin bow decorating it, sat around her neck. A silver name disk, unengraved but clearly meant for a name, hung from it. A fluffy tail wagged eagerly. _Name me! Name me!_ The creature seemed to beg. 

The wolf yipped, and even that sounded sweet. Sansa realized then how loud and ragged her breathing was.

Finally, the pup seemed to lose her patience and sprung up, resting her paws on Sansa’s chest. She laughed and took one paw in hand. Only now did she notice that each foot was covered in white fur. The end of her tail ended in a tuft of white fur as well. Her belly was similarly color. _Grey and white. Stark colors. But she’s not from the same batch as the original Stark wolves, not quite the same set. Oh, my Sweet thing, where are your littermates?_

She hugged the animal to her and looked at her husband. “Where… Where are the other cubs?”

Arya and Jon looked at each other.

“That one was found with a dead mother, just like the first set,” Arya told her, “Found just beyond the wall. Most of the other pups were gone too. Only two others. A female and a male. The female is going to Ravella, the other is going to Robb.”

_Oh you poor thing, to lose your siblings so. I know that pain._

Sansa looked at her eldest son, who grinned eagerly. “I’ve called him Red Wind.”

 _Eddie wanted to call his that._ The pang was interrupted by her exuberant niece.

“Mine is Hunter!” Ravella told her eagerly.

Sansa glanced down at her new friend, still not sure whether to believe it. _No, this… This one is alive._ “And this one?”

“Yours. Whatever you wish to call her,” Jon told her, stepping forward, “We can call this one Lady as well, if you like.”

Sansa felt the tears start to well up and fall. “No… No…” She sobbed as the wolf began to lick the tears from her face. 

“Oh gods! We’re so sorry!” Arya hurried over, grabbing at the cub. “We just thought… We know we could never replace Lady, but---“

The pup began to whine and bark as Arya pulled her away. Sansa reached out. _No, not this one. This one isn’t being taken from me._ “Stop it! Give her back! That isn’t what I---“ 

“---Sorry!” Arya dropped the animal in Sansa’s lap once more. The cub curled and buried herself into Sansa’s side, and the princess placed a protective hand on her head. 

“I meant… I meant ‘No, we won’t call her lady.’” She sighed, laughing a bit. Everyone else laughed too. Nervously.

Her heart ached and she grabbed her sister’s hand, pulling her to her and kissing her cheeks. “Thank you, thank you.” 

Arya laughed nervously. “It… It was the Free Folk that found them. And Tormund brought them down. Jon arranged for it.” 

“He told me they’d found some wolf pups, and I knew,” her husband said quietly, glancing at the ground. “I told him, take the sweetest, prettiest, gentlest of the females. That one is meant for my wife.” 

“You were right,” she told him, pulling the animal into her lap as Arya withdrew, “She’s mine. I know it. Come here.” 

Smiling sheepishly, Jon came over and let Sansa give him a big, tearful kiss. “I love you,” she whispered, “Thank you so much.” 

Their kiss was pushed apart by a wet little nose poking up between them. Both of them laughed. 

“What am I to call this new competition for your affections?” He asked her. 

Sansa glanced down at her new friend once more, then smiled up at her husband. “Snow.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, so I thought this might help us unwind after the travesty that was season five. Don't ask me where in the Trials and Tricks timeline this is, I left it kind of vague on purpose. Also this is kind of a rely to all those in my askbox who have been asking me for direwolf/puppy fics. Hope you liked it!


End file.
